


Reunion

by robynred21



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: :(((((, Angst, Gen, Handplates, Momplates, Sad, really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 11:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robynred21/pseuds/robynred21
Summary: “I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” he managed between hiccups and sobs. “I THOUGHT THINGS WOULD BE DIFFERENT NOW. I THOUGHT YOU CHANGED.”Gaster didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.Based on Zarla's handplates series, specifically momplates.





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I did another handplates thing because I've lost control of my life. Specifically momplates, the variant where Toriel takes the brothers in. This story is specifically inspired by [this comic](http://zarla.deviantart.com/art/You-can-trust-me-completely-687297257) and is meant to take place after it. I sort of wrote this in a rush - I had to ride the wave of inspiration while I had it - so apologies if it's a mess.

Doctor W.D. Gaster finished his cigarette, shakily snuffing it out in a nearby ashtray. He considered lighting another but dismissed the idea immediately. He had procrastinated long enough.

He sighed and looked down at his desk, regarding the item there grimly. In a heap lay a flimsy surgical gown, colored a sickly green. Appropriate, as Gaster thought he might be sick at any moment. He stood, snatching up the gown, and quickly made his way out the door and down the hallway.

As he neared his destination, the sounds of weeping increased. 2-P was still crying, which was expected but no less annoying. Keeping his face carefully neutral, Gaster walked up to the cell, the beams over the doorway lighting up at his presence.

2-P was huddled in the furthest corner of the cell, head in hands, but he looked up at the sound of the beams. His eyes were bleary from crying and glowed brightly in the dark cell, a desperate attempt to calm himself.

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” he managed between hiccups and sobs, “I THOUGHT THINGS WOULD BE DIFFERENT NOW. I THOUGHT YOU CHANGED.”

Gaster didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

 

 

He had no idea why 2-P had left the safety of the Ruins, the one place in the Underground where Gaster could not go. Nor did he know what had possessed 2-P to sprint towards his former captor and tormentor with arms wide open, as if meeting an old friend. But he had done just that, throwing his arms around Gaster in a joyful embrace. Gaster had been so stunned he hadn’t known how to react at first, especially when -

…When…

~~When he called him “dad.”~~

It hadn’t taken long for Gaster to pick apart 2-P’s excited ramblings and come to a few uncomfortable conclusions. After all, someone had to have let his wayward experiments into the Ruins. Someone had taught 2-P words like “dad”. Someone had dressed him in those familiar purple robes. Someone had given him the bright red scarf around his neck. Someone Gaster knew.

Toriel was alive.

This knowledge filled Gaster with a number of feelings he was afraid to name, but chief among them was betrayal. _This_ is where she had been? She had abandoned ~~him~~ her kingdom when she was needed most, to play “house” in the Ruins? Did she have the slightest idea what he had been through!?

Well, she probably guessed. She must have realized where the two brothers had come from, as soon as she saw ~~2-P’s face~~ their plates. It can’t have taken her long to piece together the rest of it.

What must she think of him.

~~And now, thanks to him, she had lost another child.~~

It had been depressingly easy. For whatever reason, 2-P had gotten it into his head that Gaster was a changed man, filled with regret for his previous actions and wanting to make things right. So…he played the part.

He hugged 2-P back. Smiled at him. Told him exactly what he wanted to hear. Ignored the pit of shame growing inside his soul.

2-P wanted to wait for his brother, insisting his “friend” would bring him along soon. But Gaster didn’t want to push his luck. There was no way 1-S would fall for a scheme like this. He’d be suspicious and make a fuss, causing nearby onlookers to investigate. All it would take is one person seeing their plates and it would all be over. Gaster managed to convince 2-P that he wanted to take him “home” straight away and get him “settled in”, promising to come back for 1-S later. Yes yes, of course he’d let Toriel know too, just come on.

What had finally sealed the deal was when he’d offered 2-P his hand to hold. Overjoyed, 2-P had grabbed it and made no further protest for the rest of the trip. The whole way Gaster could feel the metal plate in his grip, heavy like the guilt that threatened to consume him every step he took. It was only when they neared the lab in Hotland that 2-P caught on, but by then it was too late. There was no one around to hear his cries for help as Gaster dragged him into the elevator.

And just like that, they were back to the status quo.

Except that wasn’t true, Gaster knew. This was a 2-P that had seen the outside world, a 2-P who knew things Gaster had never intended him to know and experienced more than Gaster had ever accounted for. Furthermore, he was alone, without the emotional support of his brother. The dynamic had changed dramatically, and they would need to adapt. Gaster grimly wondered if either of them were up to the challenge.

 

 

Gaster avoided 2-P’s pleading eyes and focused on the panel next to the door, placing his hand on it. It lit up in response and the beams faded away. He unceremoniously tossed the gown into the cell.

“Put this on.”

He might as well have thrown a live cobra into the cell. 2-P shrunk from the gown in horror, eyes wide with the dawning realization that yes, this was really happening. “NO, NO, NO -”

“You will do as you’re told, 2-P -”

“M-MY NAME IS PAPYRUS -”

“- or there will be consequences.”

His voice was cool, controlled, giving away nothing. Gaster knew 2-P’s imagination would be more effective than any actual ultimatum he gave him.

“PLEASE,” 2-P pleaded, desperate, “PLEASE, DAD -”

“Do _not_ -”

Only now did a small crack appear in Gaster’s perfect facade. He paused, collecting himself. Control. Control.

“Call me that. Ever again. I am not your ‘dad’ and I never will be. Things don’t have dads.”

“I’M NOT A THING! I’M NOT, I’M A PERSON, TORIEL SAID SO -”

“She’s wrong -”

“NO, _YOU’RE_ WRONG!” 2-P shakily rose to his feet, voice growing stronger, defiant. “YOU WERE WRONG ABOUT A LOT OF THINGS, AND YOU’RE WRONG ABOUT ME!”

“Subject 2 -”

**“MY NAME IS PAPYRUS!!!”**

Gaster was thrown off by the surprising force of 2-P’s outburst. He continued, words tumbling out of him in a flood. His eyes glowed brighter than ever.

“I’M 15 YEARS OLD, MY BIRTHDAY IS AUGUST 11TH, I’M A PERSON, I’M A _GREAT_ PERSON!! I’M BRAVE AND SMART AND I’M GOOD AT PUZZLES AND I HAVE A BROTHER NAMED SANS AND MY NAME. IS. _PAPYRUS!!!_ ”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by 2-P’s ragged breathing.

Gaster glared at 2-P, his face betraying nothing.

“That’s not what it says on your hand.”

2-P flinched like he’d been slapped.

Gaster placed his hand on the panel again and the beams once more appeared over the door.

“Get changed. Now.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

He needed another cigarette.

 

 

Gaster came to check on 2-P later. He was still curled up in the corner of the cell, but he was now wearing the gown. His head was bowed and he was silent. He didn’t look up when Gaster appeared at the door, nor did he stir when Gaster brought down the beams and stepped into the cell. 2-P’s robes were sitting on the cot, neatly folded. Toriel had no doubt taught him how.

Gaster hurriedly pushed that thought aside as he took the clothes. It took him a moment to realize that something was missing.

“…Where’s the scarf.”

“WHAT?” 2-P’s head shot up. “UH, I DON’T KNOW! I-I MEAN, WHAT SCARF??”

“I see you're still a terrible liar.”

Gaster's eyes scanned the cell. It was bare as always, there was no conceivable place he could have hidden it. Unless…

He held out his hand to 2-P. “Come on, hand it over.”

Defeated, 2-P reached into his gown and pulled the scarf from where it had been hiding, balled up within his ribcage. But he still clung to it with trembling hands, unwilling to give it up.

“PLEASE,” he begged, “PLEASE DON’T TAKE IT -”

“2-P -”

“PLEASE,” fresh tears sprang from his eyes, “TORIEL MADE IT FOR ME.”

Frustration rising, Gaster started towards 2-P, who stumbled to his feet. He clutched the scarf to his chest, twisting it around his fingers as he babbled.

“SHE ASKED ME WHAT MY FAVORITE COLOR WAS AND I HAD TO THINK ABOUT IT BECAUSE I LIKE ALL THE COLORS BUT I SAID I LIKE RED BEST AND SHE GOT RED CLOTH AND WORKED ON IT FOR A LONG TIME -”

In his mind’s eye, Gaster could clearly see Toriel sitting by the fire, dutifully working on the scarf. It was a scene both nostalgic and painful, and the wave of feelings it caused gave him pause.

“AND WHEN SHE WAS DONE SHE GAVE IT TO ME AND I ASKED HER WHY SHE WAS GIVING IT TO ME AND SHE SAID -"

He looked directly into Gaster's eyes, fearful but resilient.

"SHE SAID THAT WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE YOU WANT TO DO THINGS TO MAKE THEM HAPPY.”

Gaster knew he should just tear the scarf from 2-P’s grasp. Rip it to pieces in front of him, set the goddamn thing on fire and throw the ashes at his feet. It would send a clear message: That life is over, forget it.

He turned away.

“Fine.”

“R-REALLY?” He could hear the shock in 2-P’s voice.

"Keep it in here." ~~Weak. Stupid.~~ "I don't want to see it outside your cell." ~~You sentimental idiot.~~

"THANK YOU, THANK YOU SO -"

"We start tomorrow," Gaster interrupted him, hurriedly making his way out the door. "You had better be ready."

"...I STILL BELIEVE IN YOU."

Gaster looked back at 2-P sharply. He was staring at him, something familiar shining in his eyes. Hope.

"I KNOW YOU CAN CHANGE. I KNOW IT. I'M NOT GOING TO GIVE UP."

Gaster felt very tired.

"We'll see." He turned away.

"GOOD NIGHT, DOCTOR GASTER."

"Good night," Gaster responded automatically, then flinched when he realized what he had done. They had never wished each other "good night" before. And while "Doctor Gaster" was better than "dad" it was far more familiarity with his experiment than he was comfortable with.

Flustered, he slammed his hand on the panel harder than intended. Once the beams were up, he stormed away without another word. His head was swimming.

He hated 2-P for having hope despite everything.

He hated himself even more for leaving any room for 2-P to hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Papyrus probably isn't actually 15 here. I figured since the brothers wouldn't know for sure how old they are, Toriel just picked an age she thought made sense and they ran with it. Same with his birthday. It's all very ambiguous, don't worry about it. The point Papyrus is trying to make is that THINGS don't have things like ages and birthdays, see. This is meant to be a one-shot, but I do have ideas for future stuff so I miiiiiiight continue it at some point? Maybe. A very big maybe. In the meantime, consider this finished. Flowey plz reset.


End file.
